


A Matter of Sanity

by The_Winter_Straw



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Romance, mild sexual references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 16:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: Some days news like this makes Matt believe he’s bitten off more than can he chew. Others, it’s a godsend.





	A Matter of Sanity

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another fic trade response! Are you sensing a theme here? This time, the prompt was "Sometimes the “Devil of Hell’s Kitchen” just needed a shoulder to lean on." It was written in early 2016, too. The first season of "Daredevil" is the only one of the Netflix series I have seen. This was mostly a ploy to write something that vaguely referenced a plot point in "The Amber Spyglass."
> 
> I'm not terribly happy with Matt's point of view in this. I think it needs a lot more sensory detail. Unfortunately, I was writing with a word count limit, and I exceeded it slightly even without adding as much as I'd like.

Matt woke up that morning to a barrage of sensory assault: warm sunlight splayed across his skin; humidity from the bathroom down the hall dampened the short hairs on his face; the smell of strange perfume sticking to the semi-cooled sheets beside him, and his familiar shampoo drifting through the air. Toast had been made–and nearly burned–in the kitchen sometime that morning. He could hear the medicine cabinet closing, and then bare feet padding toward him. Through all these floating, fuzzy feelings sliced his injuries from the night before: cuts, bruises, blisters, maybe a sprained wrist. 

“Morning, Mattie.” And _there_ was the reason he had not meditated after the fight, the reason his wounds felt as fresh as though he’d got them minutes before. Said reason lighted on the edge of his bed and slipped soft fingers into his sleep-mussed hair. “Did you sleep well last night?” 

In answer, Matt let out an incomprehensible moan. As far as he could remember, not much sleeping had taken place in the apartment the night before. Still, he wasn’t one to quibble over what he’d been doing instead. Seconds later, he sat up, forcing you to stop playing with his hair so that he could wrap his arms around your waist and put his cheek into your moist, bare shoulder. “Are you _sure_ you’ve never done that before?” he mumbled. You laughed, a sound that always caused a pleasant unfurling sensation to spread through Matt’s stomach. 

“Sorry. A girl has to have _some_ secrets,” you said, “even from her all-knowing, all-seeing blind lawyer friend.” 

“Is that what we are? Friends?” Matt chuckled himself and tightened his grip as he pressed a kiss to your skin. “You are the _worst_ nun I have ever met.” 

Another laugh, then you gently patted his cheek with your shower-warmed hand. “Well, maybe that’s why I decided not to be one anymore. What do you want for lunch?” 

The weight on his mattress vanished at the same time your body did. “Lunch? What time is it?” Frowning, Matt turned in the direction he heard you moving–toward where you had left the majority of your clothes the night before. Whether he had pulled them off or you had, he couldn’t quite remember. “Did you say you quit being a nun?” 

“It’s nearly eleven o’ clock. Figured if you wanted to go somewhere, we’d better head that way, and frankly, Matt, there’s nothing in this apartment but beer.” 

“Eleven? It’s Thursday. I can’t go to lunch. I’m already late for work–what was that about stopping nun-ing?” 

“I called in for you. Foggy whined about you skipping over a woman as usual, but–” 

“[Name],” said Matt. “The thing about your job?” 

You heaved a dramatic sigh. “I quit, okay? I was going to tell you when I came over last night, but after all that, I _kind_ of figured I didn’t have to anymore.” 

“Some clarification might have been nice.” Matt hadn’t felt an overabundance of guilt at sleeping with you. It took two to tango, after all, and you’d been just as willing as he had. _Now_ some dread was beginning to creep in. “Why’d you quit?” 

A huff sounded from behind the fabric of the shirt over your face. “I met a tall, dark, handsome stranger beating the tar out of a Russian slave trader in an alley, and he made me rethink my life choices.” 

“That’s a cliché.” 

“So’s a blind ninja fighting slave traders in New York.” 

“Not exactly.” Pressing his lips together, Matt slid out of his silk sheets. He knew his shirt was not far away, but he hadn’t started pulling it on yet when he was speaking again. “I didn’t mean to have you quit.” 

“Matt!” you groaned. 

“You can’t come _with_ me. I didn’t want to make you to feel useless.” 

“I’m a grown woman and I make my own choices. _You_ didn’t _make_ me feel or do _anything_ –and I know I can’t go with you to punch Russians. I just wanted to do a little good for Hell’s Kitchen.” 

“You _were_ doing good for Hell’s Kitchen. With the Church.” 

“Have to disagree with you there. And I’m not going back. You can’t make me. I want to experience the world. I want to _help_ you.” 

“I already said, you are _not_ –“ 

“I _know_ ,” you interrupted. “There’s more to do than break people’s bodies, you know.” 

Matt stared at you. Or stared roughly in the direction he knew you were, continuing to pull on various articles of clothing. Another sigh issued from there. 

“When I got here last night to give you the news, you were bleeding and shaking from head to foot. There’s nothing to eat here but booze and bread. You can take care of yourself, but you’re not very good at _looking after_ yourself.” 

He had never really thought about it that way. His work as Daredevil was vital. Eating was less so. And he already healed faster than most when he _wasn’t_ busy deflowering ex-nuns, and what didn’t heal after that, he could plow through just fine. On the other hand... 

“Are you inviting yourself to move in?” 

There was an obvious smile in your voice when you answered, “Well, you _are_ the reason I’m presently homeless and unemployed. If you hadn’t seduced me away from a life of worship and piety, I’d still be doing my holy work, Matt Murdock.” 

“And you’re absolutely sure you’re done with being a nun.” 

“I think what we did last night pretty much sealed the deal.” 

“And there’d be more of that.” 

“I’m leaning toward yes.” 

“And you really want to live here. With me. With the giant blazing billboard right outside the window.” 

He got a pillow to the face for his trouble, or would have, had he not caught it before it smacked him in the nose. “Does it _look_ like I can afford to be picky about where I’m staying? I’m sure, about all of the above. I can always move out once I find something else, if you decide you hate having me here.” 

Your tone turned just a little uncertain at the end of that sentence. Matt stood and stepped carefully (in case of more pillows) over the smooth floor toward you. “I won’t hate having you here,” he said. “Now that you mention it, it might be nice having someone here when I get home bleeding at two in the morning. To fuss over me and put me in place. When can you start?” 

“Immediately.” You shoved something soft-ish into his chest. Pants, he realized when he gripped them and felt the button. “Now get dressed. It’s getting toward noon now and all that sex makes a girl hungry.” 

“Right,” Matt said, and quickly started to pull on the pants. Definitely the putting him in his place part, then. But maybe you were right. Maybe sometimes, the “Devil of Hell’s Kitchen” just needed a shoulder to lean on. He'd have to see, but _he_ was leaning toward yes, too. 

* * *


End file.
